


Aftermath

by tielan



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:11:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3274547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Drift is silence; fame is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> The Get Your Words Out comm told me to stop what I was doing, hit a comment, start typing, and post it when I was done. This is it.

She stands in the crowd and feels alone.

There are voices around her, floating over her, through her, but none of them pierce her shell. She is tired, tired and angry at these people who jabber at her, who had no words or encouragement for sensei when it might have mattered, and who have only come to celebrate when the battle is already won, when the price has already been paid.

She does not want them here, around her. She does not want to be here, amidst them. She does not want—And yet, it is not about her wants, is it? She is not a child to throw a tantrum that the world does not bend to her will. She has not been a child for many many years now – not since Tokyo.

Still, she wanders through this world of bright light and talking people, and wants nothing more than the quiet of the Jaeger’s Conn-Pod in the midnight hours when most are asleep and she is free to work, nothing more than the silence of her room as she drafts technology to rebuild the shorelines, nothing more than the steady breathing beside her in the bed.

A hand on her arm breaks her out of the peaceful bubble, throwing her into the noise and the clamour and the chatter and the fray – but anchoring her with his touch: burning fingers in a yearning grip. “Mako?”

She looks up at Raleigh and remembers to breathe. “I am fine.”

“No,” his eyes search her face, “you’re not.”

“No,” she agrees, and she shakes off his hand, takes it in her own, holds tight – her anchor in the storm. “But I will manage.”


End file.
